Atsumaruno
by theAngryChicken
Summary: After a year in a peaceful Kounan, two old friends meet for a night of drinking and discussion. But their new acquaintance may not be all he seems. Please review!
1. Part One: Chapter One

Kawako knew she wouldn't see her warm bed until late tonight. She sighed, the hearth spit, and the best china tinkled gently as she rose and shuffled into the next room.

On any other night, she'd have been beside herself; men in the inn, and _young _men at that, meant coins, kisses, horseback rides. At sixteen, with a job and a room of her own, all she could think to want was a young man. Tonight, however, she was in no mood, and it seemed that neither were these three.

The redhead looked right enough with his bright clothes and baubles around his neck, but she got her first good look at his face as she set down their wine. The wild, strange sharpness of it made her stomach do an unpleasant little flip. And the loveliest boy, with caramel hair straggling under his cap, didn't even make a cursory swipe at her after all those gray-eyed leers he'd sent her way. Up close, his ill-fit clothes look rough instead of countrified and innocent. The one-eyed man had already put her off completely, nonetheless, with his vicious scar and monk's robes and outlandish blue quail-hair.

Let them drink and tell their stories all night if they like, she resolved; she could sit in her corner until dawn. Gods knew they looked as if they had enough stories to tell.

Sudden laughter chased her as she retreated to the kitchen. And a toast: "To interesting years."

"Healthy may they be. Though maybe uneventful would be better, ne?" The eldest filled his companions' glasses with wine, moving to the steaming teapot for his own. "It's been a while since I've had to introduce myself…"

"What kind of friend d'you take me for, 'Chiri? This," said the redhead with an expansive gesture, "is no less than the de facto leader of the remainin' Suzaku Seven, the most honorable Chichiri; jack-of-all-supernatural-trades, or, as I like to call 'im, the Mysterious Mister Ri."

"Though I don't go by much of anything these days," Chichiri chuckled. "Who have you been since I last saw you? Genrou?"

"Yeah, but whatever you like." Genrou nodded at the boy in the cap, "Think maybe you'd better do your own honors. Can't embellish what I don't know, ne?"

"My name is Kai." He paused a moment, staring into the middle distance. "I know it's not much, but the rest is a long story. Genrou's got to tell the end before I begin!" He grinned, raising his glass. "To the names our mothers gave us, in all their innocence of who we are now." Chichiri studied the boy carefully as the younger two drank.

"Right! On to the sins and adventures," Genrou cried, "Also, whatever you got up to, 'Chiri. Must be bored without the world needing saving."

"Are you first, then?" Kai leaned back in his chair to look back at Chichiri, flushed slightly.

"I think I'd best, though I'm afraid it's not at all an exciting story. If I may?"

"Yer too modest. What happened to the mask, first? Lost it?"

"Given away. It's a good place to start, though. Has Genrou told you about my eye?"

"Y-es."

"I hate to admit that I'm glad of that. It's not an easy story to tell." Chichiri paused, with his gaze locked on the steam rising from the iron teakettle. His hands moved idly, of their own accord.

"It's interesting that my story, the life of that person called Ri Houjun, always ends after I let go of Hikou; I suppose it makes sense to end a story at its apex, and I always run out of the energy to tell it, there."

"But I've had nearly ten years to relive it, and the part I always fix on is when I stand up, bleeding, and have to decide what I'm going to do next.

"I ran for months, though very slowly, toward the capital. I could only move if I was sure of being able to steal fire and shelter; I had to be able to boil water to bandage my face. I'd heard of men losing limbs from smaller wounds than mine; I knew I didn't have a chance if I fell ill with that fever.

"They were selfish months; I couldn't even consider that I'd murdered my dearest friend, but I certainly considered that his family would be out for my head. Hikou had been the perfect son, he wouldn't be lost easily.

"Well…" He noticed the scores his fingers had been making in the wood, and carefully took his hand away. "I was bound to meet people untrustworthy enough to be trusted. And one of them was bound to know that my entire village had been washed away in the flood, everyone in it drowned.

"Everyone who could have damned me, everyone who could have turned an accusatory eye and demand to know why I had wronged them was dead. There was no one left to blame me but myself.

"That broke me, when the only pursuer was in my own head. Until then, I had still been juggling all the needs and fears that made up the boy named Houjun. Like a juggler with one ball too many, down they all came. I stumbled into Eiyou raving, delirious with the fever I'd been staving off."


	2. Part One: Chapter Two

"I was nursed back to health by a rat—a little old rat with wild white hair." Chichiri sighed gently, and seemed to relax, even smile, briefly. "I don't know if you've ever had feverish dreams, but that was mine. Of course, it was odd to wake up and find it wasn't a dream at all.

"It was a mask, of course, and a rather gaudy, theatrical one, but it seemed to have grown into the old man. He was thin, small, with a reedy voice and a herky-jerky way of moving even when he tried to be at rest. It didn't seem so strange, then, when he introduced himself to me as the Dancing Rat.

"Like any rat's nest, his home was a murky maze, and packed to the gills with _things_. It had been a theatre, a thief's den, a tenement; no one owned it. He didn't know the half of what was stored there.

"There are legends, and not all have heard them, of men who can no longer be men because of some wrong they have done, but take up the faces of animals to help those who are still human. No questions, no debts.

"It was any easy thing to find myself a mask in all the boxes, to wear it and tell myself that I was healed. My new face was bold and ugly and brave: a brightly painted fox with a lolling tongue. I could be a new name before I had finished mourning the old; the Laughing Fox had no demons.

"The Dancing Rat taught me all of this. He taught me calm, to meditate, even with the palsy that kept his muscles dancing. He taught me to scour the back streets, to bargain with shopkeepers, so that we would always have money to give the newly widowed and food for the innumerable street urchins.

"He taught me to cook, no da!" Genrou's eyes brightened sharply, but the old habit was only a passing ghost. "He did not teach me magic, but he told me that learning it should be my goal. On that same day, he set off for the hills, and made it very clear that it would be a short journey with no return.

"After he had gone, I was in a dilemma. I disliked living in a nest of other people's lives, but I stayed, unable to leave the building to be consumed by the city.

"We're all supposed to be rovers, or bandits at twenty," Chichiri nodded toward Kai, "or smugglers. Just a guess. You both know how much I itched. I slept on the roof; I wandered the streets around the market at dawn. All those romantic things young men do.

"On one particular morning, I remember a small child carrying a pile of paper taller than he was, and a runaway horse. I remember jumping, but not landing.

"When I sat up again, it was broad daylight and I was in the back of a market stall. A girl in boy's clothes was cutting paper into pieces; muddy-colored old scrolls with the writing soaked off. She greeted me, and apologized; saving her brother had shattered my mask and nearly my head.

""The woodcarver and I made you a new one. Here," she said, "But be careful, it hasn't quite dried yet."

"So the face you knew me in was painted by a thirteen-year-old girl. It wasn't as gaudy, but I liked being a man with a foxlike face rather than a fox in a man's body.

"She told me she wrote letters for people who couldn't write, when I asked. I was frankly surprised she could write at all.

"Dou-chan taught me," she said, and pointed at the little boy. His feet didn't reach the ground from the stool he sat on, but he was writing quickly as an old woman told her faraway son the news from home.

"Of course, a boy of seven writing in perfect script was confusing to me. "I think he must be the smartest boy in the world," she said. "He's going to be quite famous some day." I remember how much conviction she had about that, how much she knew she wouldn't ever be the famous one.

"Suddenly, her brother jumped from his seat and ran to her. "Aki-chan, where's my ball? I can't find it!" Tears formed in his eyes. The girl sighed, handing him the bright toy from where she'd stashed it. "He's really very clever," she assured me, "But he needs my help sometimes." She took over dictation from the old woman where her brother had left in mid-sentence.

"Twenty minutes later, he had left off playing in the dirt and was conversing with me as though we'd grown up together. He and his sister and mother lived in a crumbling manor, bought for its library. He would memorize the books and then the children would cut them up. It seemed the only money the family had came from the children and their absent brother, who was much older, a colonel in the Emperor's army. All their hopes lay on seeing the little boy enter the civil service.

"What moved me most was how torn he was, the guilt he felt about being special. "Aki-chan wants so badly to study martial arts," he said, "I can teach her all the theory that's written down a thousand years back, but I can't teach her to be strong! She won't ask mother, because it's frivolous, and she won't believe that anyone will ever teach a girl."

"That was the – Ah!" Chichiri turned sharply at the jangle of porcelain, throwing an arm across his face.

Kawako stood mid-stumble, her tray and everything on it in the beginnings of a frozen fall. Chichiri began to quickly remove the most precarious, distributing them between his stunned friends. Finally, he could remove the tray from her hands. "It's all right," he said, and touched her arm gently.

She staggered forward, caught herself. "No harm done," Chichiri assured her, but she had already turned, shuddering, and shuffled out of the room.

"What was that?" Kai gasped.

"It was just a reflex, I apologize." Chichiri busied himself with rearranging the hastily set tableware.

"Finish the story!" demanded Genrou, snatching bowls out of his friend's reach.

"Oh! Well, I bartered the old man's house and left the city. I didn't return until I met Miaka."

Both young men groaned. "But what _happened_?" cried Kai.

"I heard it burned down a few years later, actually. Very sad."

Genrou slapped the table with an open palm, then wrung his sore hand. "What happened to _Chiriko_?"

"Oh! That was what I did for him, you see. I bartered the house to a fighting school as his sister's tuition. He knew I wanted to become a magician, told me all the forgotten legends of Mt. Taikyoku he'd read of. I just carried out my legend in return for his, I suppose. I set out to find my fortune and I forgot all about him.

"And really, did it matter that we had met before, in the end?" Chichiri sighed. "His brother died in the battle with Kutou."

"Damn it, we both loved that kid. How can you—"

"We both knew, Genrou, and we both knew that it was in the past. It wouldn't have made a difference. He still would have died—he wanted to be strong. For us, for his sister." Another silence fell. "I'm sorry, Kai. We're here to share new stories, not dredge up old memories. I only meant to set the stage with all the characters.

"I've droned on too long. Perhaps it would have been better just to say that, when Genrou and I parted a year ago, I meant to make a promise that I'd already broken…"


	3. Part One: Chapter Three

Things were different out here. So much of it was emptiness, endless tawny hills in languid, reclining poses. Now and again, something strange would rise out of the landscape: gray lumpy insects the size of boulders, inching over the grass and plowing up paths behind them, herds of vaguely bovine things with muscular tails to whip at attackers.

Chichiri had long since run out of trails to follow. As fast as he could, he made for a vaguely discolored line in the grass toward the horizon. For the first time in weeks, it looked like rain; he needed those limits on the directions he could wander.

Hours later, the rain sheeted down, and the hills still rolled on into the growing darkness. There was a road, at least, but no buildings loomed up in the distance. Chichiri's pauses became more frequent; several times he knelt to press his palms against the increasingly sodden track, sigh deeply, and stand up again, slowly. There was no shelter.

One last time he bent, resting his elbows on his knees. Looking carefully from side to side, he considered each roadside's prospects for not drowning him in his sleep.

Light poured suddenly from a door that opened in the hill ahead. There was a screech of greeting, and the lumpy figure of an old woman hobbled toward him.

She continued shouting welcomes until she reached him, carefully considering his appearance. "Cor, you wouldn't happen to be one of them tormented fighter types, what with a tragic past?" Her birdy eyes glittered.

"I don't think so."

"Not got anyone murderin' your entire family for revenge, then?"

"No."

"Not runnin' away from your troubles in a delirium looking to live the simple life of a farmer?"

"I'm looking for someone."

"Blast. I hear them lapsed fighting-masters make grand workers. Old Tako's got the rheumatism, we're short-handed in the fields. Come in out of the cold anyhow, young man." She led him in through the door in the hill.

Dripping, Chichiri surveyed the room: both walls and floor were packed dirt, held up with rough-hewn beams. An old man with gnarled, swollen hands sat in the corner, raising a bowl of soup to his mouth every so often. "If you want more visitors, you might try having some beautiful maidens around, no da."

"What, you mean like the ones in old stories? White as milk and born mute or blind or summat tragic."

"They must be very brave, and sweet, of course. It sets a good example."

"Ee! You_ are_ a wicked one, sir. But that's a good idea, ennit…"

"Do you get tormented souls through here often?"

"'Course. They like all the nothingness, it doesn't remind them of anything. Only heard of the one staying in all my life, but there's always room for more. Your tragic maidens wouldn't do much good there, hee!"

"Why's that?"

"She's a woman herself. Never saw the like, did we, Old Tako?" The hairy old man grunted into his soup.

"Ah. That's very interesting." Chichiri perched on a rough bench by the fire to dry, listening to the old woman mutter to herself:

"Maybe Kenda's daughter, she's got the club foot. Face like a goat, though. Riu's youngest looks right enough, but there's nothing wrong with'er…bet she could act mute, when she's older…"

* * *

"That was a good bit of information-gathering," muttered Kai. "You're tricksier than you look."

"Yes, well. The old woman did have me hauling wood and water for a two weeks before she'd tell me the way to Ou Akiame's farm. Never mind that it happened to be fifty miles away."

* * *

The house was not built into the landscape, as he'd expected, but it seemed to have grown into it: moss grew up the plastered walls and new grass in a carpet over the roof. The single window was dark; the sun had already set. Chichiri lowered the hand he had raised to knock, and carefully considered the weathered door for a long minute. Finally, he circled the house and knocked at the door of the barn instead. The horse's snuffle was a welcome greeting, the last thing he remembered before falling fast asleep.. 

The girl wore a sense of age like a yoke on her shoulders. It stooped her, took all of the shine the early morning light should have given her. Even her clothes were old: farmer's trousers folded and tied around a meager waist.

She set down the wash bucket she carried and paused, crouched. Slowly, she turned; she made no sudden moves, but subtle shifts in balance suggested that something in her had been _set_, like a spring-loaded trap. She turned, cold anger in her eyes, and faced Chichiri.

All the tension flicked away in half an instant. She took a quick step forward, froze. "I remember you," she said.

Without the questions he had prepared to answer, he was dumb, motionless as she walked quite matter-of-factly to him. Her hand remembered where the edge of the mask should be and took it away. Suspiciously, she studied the old wood and paint before her eyes moved back to his nervous face. "I remember you," she repeated, and now there was no question in her voice.

His awkwardness caught hold of her. Both stared at each other without a place to start.

"Mama!" came a cry from the house, and a tiny girl in a red dress toddled out, holding a bowl she could have used as a boat. Surprised by the stranger, she tripped, the wooden bowl flying into the mud and rolling to a comical halt, the girl's pudgy starfish hands landing splat in a puddle. She paused as if to make up her mind, and then began to bawl. "Imi," murmured Akiame, and rushed to pick the little girl up, smudging her shapeless shirt with mud and tears.

* * *

"Ouch," hissed Genrou, taking another drink. "Women, huh?" He looked to Kai for support. Kai ignored him, and motioned Chichiri to continue.

* * *

When Imiko had finished her cry and run back to the house on some small errand, Akiame turned back to him. "Do you remember my brother? Doukun?"

"Yes, I--" He paused, realizing something. "Of course I remember him."

"Imiko is an orphan. We both are." Her voice grew fainter. "But I hope she'll never have to know."

* * *

Kai broke in, "All she knew was that you'd saved her brother, once. Not that you'd been his friend, or that you'd seen him die."

"I realized that around that time," Chichiri nodded. "But you've got to understand…hasn't there ever been anyone you haven't been able to _move_ around? Kouran had been the only one to do that to me; I loved her. Akiame…well, until then, I'd never had to face anyone I'd hurt, do you see?" There was a certain pleading in his voice.

"But did you tell her?" Kai leaned forward, though his eyes were beginning to swim. Genrou, too, looked flushed and distracted.

"Yes."

* * *

He sat on the floor, watching Imiko babble and run her toy animals back and forth, listening to stifled sobs through the wall. He rested his face in his hands a moment, then stood quickly.

But even as he took a determined step toward the next room, a piping voice, frighteningly familiar, rang out: "Chichiri-sama!"

"Chiriko-kun?" he gasped, and stumbled. Imiko looked curiously up at him, and disbelief churned in his stomach. Her eyes were green, something he surely should have noticed earlier…

She crowed with laughter, suddenly, and ran out into the brightening yard.

Akiame appeared at his elbow, covering her red face slightly with one hand. She cast about for Imiko, spied her in the yard splashing in puddles. With a surprised sigh, she noticed what she held in her other hand. "Iya da--I've ruined this. I'm so sorry…" The face on the old mask had been smeared away by tears.

"Oh, it's all right. I find myself repainting it now and again…no da." The cheerful tone caught in his throat, and he put a hand on her shoulder, instead. "Why don't you keep it, after all? It was yours to give; it's yours to take back."

Imiko ran in and twined her arms around Akiame's legs. She babbled happily as she looked up at Chichiri, her bright eyes black as a beetle's wings.


	4. Part One: Chapter Four

"Thank you," she said. Akiame had made an island of herself—she held a steaming mug close to her chest, sitting at some distance as Chichiri and Imiko kneaded dough into shapes. "I can never get the hang of bread. It always comes out peculiar."

Chichiri smiled as Imiko carefully stuck the ears on a rabbit-shaped bun. A lull fell over the kitchen. "It's rude of me, but might I stay here for a few days?"

"Would you like to stay a while? You've come so far." They spoke together; Akiame smiled into her tea.

The offer took a load off of Chichiri's mind—he wouldn't have to leave her alone with her grief. _She wants to know more about her brother_, he thought.

"I want to know more about you," she said. He stared, but could not find anything but honesty in her face. "Though I don't think you'll tell me." She always spoke, he noticed, as if she was working through a difficult puzzle out loud: directly, without insinuation.

He moved carefully to sit at the table next to her. "Well, I don't know. I suppose I'd ask you: Why?"

"You look as though you have an interesting definition of what life is."

"Mm, that's difficult. It's a search; yet, when you find what you were looking for, you see all the horrible blunders you made along the way. And the only thing you can do is go and search for something else." He blinked, having been staring into space. "I'd like to hear yours."

"Life is the string of people who depend on you. Without them…" She looked briefly at him, then away. They both knew what there was then.

"Aki-chan! Want a sweet, please." Imiko bounced impatiently.

"A whole sentence, little miss? I think that deserves one." Akiame rose. "I hide them," she explained, "because little raccoons sometimes get into where they don't belong." Imiko beamed.

When Akiame had gone, Imiko turned back to her work. She rolled up a body, stuck on two arms, two legs, and a head. With a look at Chichiri, she made a thin oblong shape and stuck it straight up on top of the head—a ponytail.

He could only watch, and dread, as she found a bit of straw and squashed a bit of dough around the middle. Looking straight at him, she stabbed the tiny prayer wheel through the manikin's chest. Her eyes practically glowed hazel-green.

"Here we are!" He shuddered--Imiko's eyes went dark as she turned and ran to Akiame with a happy shout. As Akiame walked toward him, he tried to repurpose the horrible little figurine.

"What a strange cow. You continue to amaze me, little miss."

"How so?" He tried not to tremble.

"She's only almost old enough for whole sentences, but she sometimes has those little flashes of brilliance." Akiame frowned. "I don't know what…normal children are like."

The frown did not pass. "Chichiri, did she call me Aki-chan?" There was suspicion in her voice.

"I…I can't be sure."

"No one ever calls me that."

* * *

It was as though he'd been caught red-handed, somehow, when Akiame shouted to him from the yard a day later, pointing with a trembling hand at something scratched in the dust. 

The words in the dirt read 'Ou Doukun'. "I saw her write this. It's in his handwriting, Chichiri; I'd know it anywhere. What's going on?" There was a desperate, rough edge to her voice.

"I…"

"You're not surprised. You knew! When did this start?"

"The day I arrived. I'm sorry..." Was he that transparent to her?

"I don't believe in ghosts, Chichiri. I don't believe in _his_ ghost."

"I've seen stranger things. Reincarnation, magic, gods...I can't explain any of it, but it's all very real. Strange things happen when the world goes unbalanced."

"This isn't the world, this is my brother. It's been years. There's no reason for him to _take over_ an innocent girl...get down from there, miss! You'll knock your teeth out." Akiame snatched Imiko up from where she was climbing the woodpile, hugged her close for comfort. But suddenly the older girl's eyes snapped open, confused and afraid. She put Imiko down, backed away. And with a final desperate glance at Chichiri, she dashed back to the house.

* * *

Days passed. Imiko continued to change, but subtly; it seemed that the part of her who was Doukun no longer lashed out, trying to make himself heard. Rather, and his stomach churned at the thought, it was becoming normal for her to spurt out words beyond her years. She was more withdrawn, no longer quite so young in manner.

But no matter who she was at the moment, she was very concerned about Akiame. The older girl had withdrawn to her room, spending her days dozing or in dull disbelief, thrown further into paroxysms of sobbing when Imiko would address her in Doukun's voice.

He couldn't leave Akiame to go mad. He couldn't leave the mystery unsolved. But every day the feeling that there was nothing he could do grew stronger, and he withdrew as well, sleeping in the warmth of the barn.

* * *

He was vaguely aware of a noise, before something hit him and he flew backwards with the wind knocked out of him, suddenly awakened. Akiame stood over him, dark hair silhouetted in moon. "You were sleepwalking," she said, and he noticed that she held his staff as if she'd caught it in mid-swing. "I tried to wake you, and you…" she lowered the staff in explanation. "Well. I'm sorry I hit you back with it. You were speaking, but I couldn't understand it. You were glowing."

There was a small, sleepy sigh, and both noticed in horror that he'd fallen right beside where Imiko was curled on her quilts. Akiame tilted her head to one side, thought for a moment. In her unadorned way, she said, "You've been doing all of this to her, haven't you?"

He knew it was true, suddenly: he remembered the strange dreams, feeling listless every morning as if his soul had been drained dry. She must have understood from the fear and confusion on his face, though he had no breath. There was more emotion in her voice than usual when she spoke:

"Every time I wrote to Doukun, I told him I loved him; every time he wrote he did the same. It was the worst pain I'll ever feel, when he died. But _I never resented him for it_, I loved him that much. I never begged _anyone_ for his life back. There wasn't anything that could-have-been we didn't have."

"Why?" she plead, "Why do you want him back?" Still half sleepwalking, he tried to form the word 'You'. She sat, staring through her fingers, "How could you have been so wrong about me? I should be so angry. But...I can't resent you, either." There was resignation in her misery, as if life had finally caught her in its game of tag.

* * *

Chichiri stopped. "What could I have done?" he muttered. "I ran from my mess. And here I am." He looked up. "You're both drunk!" 

" 'S not true." Genrou rested his head on the table, drooling slightly.

Tears streamed down Kai's face. "Taihen da...that's terrible." His eyes spun slightly, opposite each other.

"It's time for bed," Chichiri declared, hooking an arm under Kai's shoulders and heaving the smaller man up the stairs.

"Chichiri!" Kai staggered, caught himself with both hands on Chichiri's shoulders. "Y'know what women really want? They just want someone…who won't screw around with their shit, yeah? Just leave 'em alone! And tell 'em they're pretty sometimes…" All attempts to steer him toward his room failed. Chichiri sighed, held a hand to his face in concentration. "An' buy us something every once in awhile, too, that helps…" Chichiri pressed a palm firmly to the boy's forehead.

Kai straightened up slightly. "Woo! Feels better. You're a good guy, Chichiri. G'night." With only minimal wobbling, Kai walked himself into his room. Chichiri paused, playing back the conversation in his head. He frowned, then smiled, coughing out a disbelieving laugh.

"Hey, buddy? I d'n feel so good…" Genrou crawled his way slowly along the hall, holding the wall for support. Another dose of chi to the forehead and he, too, was fit enough to find bed. Chichiri considered the door to his own room a moment, then turned and headed out down the stairs.

* * *

Genrou snorted suddenly, and sat up. Black! Why was everything black? His stomach rolled, agonizingly. The world slowly began to separate from the nauseous dream he'd been having. He was in a room, in bed. Knowing something was nice.

All right, kid. You've been here before. Get your bearings. Then, take a piss. He spun out the internal monologue as he stood and found his way out the back door, talking to himself in short sentences.

Victory! He left the outhouse feeling light and fully awake. With his new energy, he meandered off toward a brook in the near distance, the only thing glittering in the moonlight.

Chichiri appeared out of the darkness, sitting cross-legged in a shadow. "Lovely night, isn't it?"

Genrou yelped and fell, somersaulting into a nonchalant sitting position. "Oi! Er. Yep. Sure is." He picked a leaf out of his hair.

"I'm sorry about that."

"Nah, no worries." It was weird how not-there Chichiri could be, he thought. And here he was, supposed to be the bandit stealth-master! He searched for something to say, having disturbed his friend's meditation. "So. You've got it bad for this Akiame chick, huh?"

"Aa--!" Chichiri sat up in surprise. "I should have known you wouldn't develop any more tact after a year…" He sighed. "I don't know what I feel about her. It's certain what I think I feel and what I actually feel are different. Seeing as I tried to turn that little girl into Chiriko, just to make her happy."

"Hey, yeah. I never knew you could do all that weird magic stuff you've been doin'. I mean, maybe when it was important and stuff, but…ya think you could cure a hangover? Gonna have a wicked one in the morning…"

Chichiri chuckled. "I've noticed it. It's frightening—it just falls out of me, like stopping that girl who was falling, earlier. I can't help feeling…like I'm coming apart. I can't trust myself, no one can really trust me."

"Wait—that's why I said we had to meet up every year, yeah? Without Miaka 'n Taka around to mess the world up, you get all depressed." Genrou gestured wildly. "Plus, you have to finish your story next year, come back and tell me about it. Go back and tell Akiame...you're sorry or something. I dunno."

"The story's over, Genrou. I left. That's all."

"That's not an ending! Ya gotta have a damn adventure! Why did Kai and I go out and have all those adventures if you're just going to give up?" Genrou paused. "Er, actually, I dunno if Kai had any adventures. Probably, though."

"I'm still confused about him. Where did you meet?"

"Naw, I can't give the whole surprise away, it's not fair t'him. Well. I met him a few days ago, right? And he told me some things, and I said, 'Hey, you have to come meet my friend Chichiri,' and he said fine. That's all I know."

"He seems…unique."

"Yeah, he's weird, innee? Never met anyone like him."

"It seems to be taking longer than I thought to get through all of our stories, ne? I guess we do have three years to recount between us."

"Don't worry about it. We'll go fishin' tomorrow or something; it'll be fun, you'll see!" Genrou yawned and moved to stand up. "Come on inside, it's late. Early, mebbe."

"I'll stay here for a little while, I'd like to see the sun come up. Have a good morning, Genrou."

"G'morning! See you…later."

As he ambled through the hallway to his room, he stopped short, hearing an angry voice through Kai's wall: "You can't tell _anyone_." His criminal sense detected the clink of underhanded money. A softer voice spoke; he though he picked up the word 'embarrass', but no more. Footsteps shuffled toward where he stood with his ear against the door.

Frantically, he leapt into the cover of an open, dark room, as Kai's door opened and the waitress from downstairs padded out, looking peeved. "Just…be quiet and leave me alone, ok?" That was Kai's voice from inside the room, more tired than angry now.

"You don't have to be _rude_ about it," hissed the girl, and shut the door firmly but quietly, making her way downstairs tight-lipped.

Genrou dashed to his bed in a blink. Why would Kai be angry, depressed even? That couldn't be how it worked when you took a girl to bed—there had to be something strange going on, here. Still, he couldn't help feeling…betrayed, somehow.

He closed his eyes, and remembered nothing more.


	5. Part Two: Chapter One

Atsumaruno

Part Two, Chapter One

Someone had told him that overcast days were the best for fishing, and, for Kai and Chichiri, it seemed to be true. But Genrou had remembered why he just plain hated fishing: fish just plain hated him.

Chichiri was patient, as expected, and fish came to him in due time. But there was something almost supernatural about Kai's luck; the fish seemed to be fighting for the chance to throw themselves onto his hook. Maybe because Genrou was scaring them toward it, he supposed.

So the three found themselves faced more with the chance to take long breaks rather than to do any actual fishing. Genrou seized the opportunity to chuck his rod and take his turn at storytelling instead:

"Last time the world tried to wink out of existence, Mt. Leikaku started shrinking, you know? And after we saved the world, it came back, but we realized that most of the caves we stashed our goodies in had either collapsed or winked out of existence or whatever.

"Bandits don't deal too well with being hard up for cash, so we came up with a plan to rob from the rich and give to ourselves. We scouted all those seaside towns at the bottom of the mountain; plenty of shipping magnates there, we thought.

"And we found out pretty quick that the biggest, richest, meanest asshole of 'em all was a guy named Uda. Next thing I knew, I guess, I was tunneling up through the floor of his house."

Chichiri commented vaguely, "I thought you mostly stuck to highway robbery."

"Yeah. Guess we were just desperate enough to get creative. Long story short, we made off with every painting, antique, and ingot in the place. And then this girl shows up."

* * *

Halfway down the hole in the floor, Genrou caught a vase that one of his colleagues tossed him. Kouji stood lookout in the doorway, motioning the last bandits through as they prepared their escape. 

Then, there was a soft noise from a sliding panel, and a voice whispering, "Excuse me." The light from a carried candle, though dim, blinded their night-vision, and the world blurred back into focus slowly.

She was small, with a dark net of hair that fell to her knees. It seemed they'd woken her; her sleeping robes were a delicate pink, undecorated. More unusually, she did not seem frightened; only nervously curious, as though she believed herself still dreaming.

* * *

"So we thumped her over the head and took her hostage. Always a good plan."

* * *

"Ok, so what did we agree on?" Kouji and Genrou stopped, conferring with each other quietly outside a guarded door.

"We're a couple of real mean tough badasses."

"Right. And we're not gonna take any fancy crap from Little Miss Rich Girl, either."

"And we're not gonna hold with any cryin'!"

"Ok. Let's go." They clapped each other on the back, energetic from the pep talk, and motioned the guards to open the door. They stepped in.

"Hajimemashite! Doozo yoroshiku onegaishimasu! Uda Chiyo to mooshimasu!" She pronounced each syllable very precisely, bowing with each polite introduction.

"Gosh, we were gonna give you the whole 'You've been kidnapped so no one can hear you scream,' speech and everything," Kouji said, striking a nonchalant pose as he leaned against the doorway.

"I expected so. But don't worry, I've been fully trained in the etiquette as regards being kidnapped." She bowed again. "Though I am only a very poor student."

"Wow. There's etiquette?" Kouji looked at Genrou. "No one told us."

"Oh, yes. I was sent to a finishing school whose curriculum was designed specifically to train young ladies of breeding in how to be proper kidnappees."

Kouji and the girl stared at each other. Her face was completely guileless, but, after several long seconds, a wry twinkle flashed across her eye.

Kouji dissolved into laughter. "You little minx! Kidnapping finishing school! This girl--!" He elbowed Genrou, who frowned a little harder. "Cracks me up. Seriously, no screamin' and no escapin', and we'll get along fine." He was still chuckling as they barred the door and walked away. After a moment, he noticed his friend staring at him. "Look, Gen, don't give me the 'What the fuck?' eyebrows. It was funny."

* * *

"It could not have been a worse hostage situation. Who wants to kidnap someone quiet and witty? Worse, freakin'..._lovable_. It's the first rule of kidnapping girls: they're supposed to want to leave!"

* * *

"But I don't. I'd really rather stay. And, well…I've come to love you quite a bit, Kouji." Chiyo blushed.

"Really?" Kouji blushed as well. Genrou felt certain he was about to throw up.

"Yes. You're not very good at being frightening and despicable." She giggled. "Might I stay here? It's such a beautiful place…though I might like a room with a window. And no armed guards."

By now, Kouji and Chiyo were talking into each other's eyes, and coming dangerously close to what Genrou suspected would be a nauseating storybook kiss. "What about the ransom?" Genrou growled.

"Oh! You're welcome to keep it. I don't particularly love my father, no one does." She paused. "I hope you're prepared for any possible complications?"

"Complications?"

"Well…I thought you knew already, but the Uda family _has_ been training and hiring out mercenaries for five generations."

"Awgoddamnit." Genrou stormed from the room as some inexorable force swept the newfound lovers into each other's arms.

* * *

"Almost two months she was there, and it just got worse every day! I mean, Kouji was _my_ best friend first…damn, Kai, how are we going to eat all of these things? I think you'd better stop."

"You're going to be cooking them, right?"

"I guess."

"So we're gonna need a lot extra while you get your aim right!"

"Shut the fuck up."

* * *

It had been a quiet night. The men played cards and sang the same drinking songs they always did. Kouji and Chiyo hid away in their room, doing whatever it was they always did. _They._ Genrou flushed in anger, stalking the halls.

It had been a quiet night, until an armored man appeared out of a dark corner. "Surrender or d—" Genrou kicked him firmly in the chest.

"Rek-ka--!" The soldier's screams tore back at him through the flames, and he considered that he probably should have asked a few questions before getting that nice armor so hot. More worrying were the gentle _foosh _noises as the walls went up in flames. Genrou cursed, and ran for the fire bell.

* * *

"Burned down the whole damn place. That's me for ya."

"That's terrible!" Kai frowned.

"Nah. Happens every week. Nobody evacuates a building like the Mt. Leikaku bandits."

* * *

He was dimly aware of others running up along the path with him, well aware of where they were headed. One of the men called out, "Uda?" and he shouted back in agreement. He jogged only slowly, turning periodically to monitor the evacuation and the progress of the few foreign shapes milling around the rapidly burning buildings.

Kouji slammed into him from one side, panting wildly. "Chiyo! No one got her. Where is she?" He shouted her name, desperation rising in his voice.

"Keep yer goddamn voice down," Genrou muttered, ignoring his friend to focus on the shapes of the soldiers regrouping, moving in their direction. Kouji continued to shout; the last few bandits paused to see what was the matter.

"Kouji?" Her voice drifted out of the woods. Kouji ran, followed only reluctantly by Genrou and the others. Chiyo appeared, dodging through the trees, wiping soot from her eyes with the tail of her sash. Kouji barreled into her, sweeping her up in his arms.

She stepped back and cocked her head to one side. "I have to talk to you," she said, as though no one was in a hurry at all.

Peeved, Genrou barked for attention. "Pardon the interruption, but _get in the fuckin' cave_."

Sulky, he waited at the mouth of the cave as Kouji and the last bandits dashed in. The boy who stood just inside, holding a fuse in one hand and a match in the other, looked at him questioningly. Genrou motioned him to stay, and turned back.

The soldiers melted out of the trees. Unlike the first one he'd attacked, their armor had been blacked, cloths covering their moths and noses. He ran. The fuse was lit. But it was too late: in the last second of thunderous noise and light, he could see a few had made it inside behind him.

When the last few rocks had crumbled into place, there was silence, pitch-blackness. The others were safe. The only way further into the tunnels was a tiny chink, by now filled by a very pointy wall of bandits. They'd probably only let him up when they were sure he was alone. His feeling of sulky martyrdom increased.

Very slowly, he straightened up. Very slowly, he took a silent step forward. Very slowly, he reached out a hand.

And he touched metal.

Time went sluggish. He could hear the soldier's sharp intake of breath as he prepared to yell, and Genrou japed the sharp end of the tessen upward, hoping to catch something sensitive. He hit under the man's jaw, dull and soft. The world went back to normal as the man fell with a clatter of armor, gurgling.

There was a soft light. He realized his symbol was glowing, throwing pale red shadows. No on else seemed to be rushing out at him.

"You okay, boss?" They brought a torch. There were no other soldiers, only a helmet half-buried in the rockslide. Genrou went to kick at the rocks, then decided he didn't really want to know. He turned to the fallen man. There seemed to be rather a lot of blood.

"Can we patch him up or something?" he asked. The bandit with the torch poked the body with a toe, shrugged.

Genrou stalked up to a lookout room, feeling empty. Through the tiny window, he could see a small army collecting below. It was only a small consolation, then, when Kouji walked in looking as lost as he felt.

"We're surrounded."

"She's pregnant."

"Aww…!" Genrou stamped furiously. He peered at the burning camp below. "We're not gonna get out of this one, are we?"

* * *

"But you did," observed Chichiri.

"Hell, sure, I was just saying that to be dramatic. We could fight off those guys no problem. But we couldn't keep doing it over and over, _forever_." Genrou shrugged expansively. "You insult a powerful guy like that, he's not gonna stop coming after you. Because…"

* * *

"There are some things you just don't _do_!" Genrou waved his arms wildly as Kouji sat, head in his hands.

"I know, buddy." Kouji sighed. "Chiyo and I are leaving. Tonight. She's packing." Genrou goggled. "Don't look at me like that; it's not her fault."

"Why—you don't gotta _go, _man, I mean…there must be somewhere…all those safe-houses on the mountain?"

Kouji shook his head. "It wouldn't work. I thought you'd understand--look," he said, and stood up, "You've got two kinds of bandits, right? Young guys who're _supremely_ angry at their fathers, and a bunch of useless old drunks couldn't hack it in real life, yeah? So where do all the other guys in between go?" He frowned at the confusion on Genrou's face. "Everybody's got to grow up sometime, Gen. We're getting too old for this."

"What about Hakurou? He was older than we are."

"Hakurou was different." Kouji looked away.

"See? 'S not that simple…"

"Hakurou was _dying_." His voice hardened. "I can stand here and tell you that one of these days you're gonna want more out of life than to get drunk and fight. But you're still happy playing King of the Bandits, aren't ya? I'm leaving so all that playing doesn't get you killed. You'll thank me later." Kouji slammed the door behind him as he left.

* * *

"Haven't seen him since. But he did throw Uda's men off of us; suppose I do have to thank him for that. Bastard."

"What did you do?" mused Kai, scooping the guts as neatly as possible out of another fish.

"What could I do?" Genrou lay back on the bank. "Got stinkin' drunk and got in a fight."


End file.
